


I Love You

by sheriff_lester



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Little Death, AU, Gay, Inspired by Music, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Making Out, OOC Sherlock, PWP, Sex, Smut, Sugar Baby, Sugar Baby Sherlock, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy John, Sweater weather, i cant think of any other tags rn, i love you - the neighbourhood, kind of no plot, theyre all out of character i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-04 16:34:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheriff_lester/pseuds/sheriff_lester
Summary: A bit of Johnlock inspired by songs by The Neighbourhood [sugar daddy/baby au].





	1. Sweater Weather

It was late at night but the darkness was interrupted by the lights of lampposts overhead, shop signs that flashed, the beam of headlights. Sherlock was curled up in the darkness, feeling cold from the cooling weather outside but even colder each time he glanced at John's face beside him. John's mouth was a set line, a frown puckering his forehead, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly - each time the artificial light crossed his face, Sherlock felt his stomach flip uncomfortably, knowing exactly what had caused it. He didn't frequently understand emotion or guilt, but it was hanging over him heavily and making him curl up tighter in the passenger seat, his arms wrapped tightly around his waist and his thin hands gripping his sharp elbows. John didn't move or flinch, too focused on either driving or his own thoughts to react to his companion, and it seemed to make things worse.  
Sherlock opened his mouth, taking a deep breath as he prepared to say the apology that had built up in the back of his throat and nestled there, knowing it was the right thing to do. The fault was purely his, and he couldn't stand seeing John look so annoyed much longer. Before a sound could escape him, John muttered, "You really are unbelievable."  
Sherlock's lips closed and he let out a quiet sigh. He had been told this a fair few times in his life, had it thrown in his face in exasperated shouts, but now it seemed worse, much heavier, in the quiet tone.  
"I take you out and what do you do?" John asked slightly louder, finally shifting in his seat as the anger came out. Sherlock said nothing in response to this. "You make me look stupid! Completely stupid, completely incapable of keeping control of you!"  
Sherlock finally did reopen his mouth but tried to figure out the words before he spoke them, considering John's. He thought back to a mere fifteen minutes ago, the way John had pulled Sherlock away from the other doctors and insisted in a hiss that they leave immediately. It was an important event for John, to celebrate his talents as a doctor along with his equals, his rich friends in the medical profession. Sherlock had been bought along to be shown off - John had told them all about his baby, the one he showered money and affection on, and had been pleased when they all seemed to like and admire the younger man. Sherlock could understand his anger when he had spent the latter part of the night practically ignoring John and sitting far too close to one of his colleagues, practically draped on his lap as they sat in a corner away from the majority of the guests. Even when Sherlock had seen the flash of John's angered eyes across the room, he had ignored it almost smugly, running a finger down his distraction's cheek. It was harmless, no emotion involved - he didn't even like the man. He was just bored, curious, completely illogical. How it must have looked to John, and to the rest of the room, Sherlock disliked imagining. They may not have been in a true relationship but there had of course been a shift. Romance that couldn't be stopped from creeping in. Emotions that no metaphorical wall could contain. The first few months of their arrangement were long gone, the days where John and Sherlock could sleep with or date whomever they wanted, until John decided one of the rules was they only saw one another and Sherlock had agreed without second thought.  
"I had just been telling them all about you, telling you how important you are to me and you just - you just think you can do what you want!" John ranted, hitting at the steering wheel and shifting with agitation. Sherlock waited until he had appeared to stop speaking for the moment - though he knew by the stiffness of John's tone that there were many more things the older man wished to say, things he was holding back. Anger too big for the car contained inside him.  
"I'm sorry," Sherlock said finally, his mouth dry but his tone perfectly clear. "I'm sorry I did that."  
"Oh, shut up. You're not sorry for anything," John snapped, turning down a road with a little bit more speed than was safe. "You're so selfish, you love doing what you want and damn how anyone else feels!"  
Sherlock felt stabs at the words inside his chest, placing his hands over them to slow his faster beating heart. He was upset but he was nervous, afraid of what would happen when they got out the car and all the attention was on him rather than the road and the route home. They had fought before, of course - either when John would tell Sherlock he had been bad, he needed punishment, leading to filthy, angry sex, though there were the times where they were genuinely exasperated with one another. How Sherlock couldn't understand the simplest things but John couldn't grasp Sherlock's behaviour. There's was a relationship based on money and sex and power play. Now that John was genuinely angered with Sherlock, jealous to the point where it wasn't a game any more, he could feel his own hurt.  
"Just because you're Sherlock fucking Holmes -" John cut the sentence short and growled, shaking his head. He took a deep breath, as if inhaling would douse the fire inside him, and turned the corner to the hotel they were staying at overnight for the trip away; he took his time slowing down, shutting off the engine, tugging at the handbrake, each move done delicately and with deliberation. Sherlock could barely breathe pressed tight against the car door and watching John slowly unwind, though it was undetectable whether or not he was truly done arguing with the younger. He got his answer minutes later.  
"I don't know what I'm going to do with you." They were softly spoken words usually, often said when they had finished having sex and just got past the sweating, heavy-breathing stage of unwinding from the activity, when Sherlock would rest his chin on John's chest and stare at him imploringly as the older man ran his hand through the brown curls. He had said it more frequently, fondly, as their arrangement had shifted and progressed into - seemingly - something more, but now the words sounded bleak in the dark car, almost spat out as coldly as the weather.  
"I'm sorry," was all Sherlock could say again. It was a whisper he could barely hear himself, too nervous to push the sounds out of his mouth louder, but John heard. He nodded once, to show he was listening, then leaned back against his seat, hand in his hair. "John."  
The only thing Sherlock could think to do was wind himself around John, use the sweet voice that always made the older man crazy. He wanted to put his head on his shoulder and plead in his ear but that was risky when things were so delicate right now, so instead he made do with putting his hand on John's thigh. The suit material was warm and soft with expense, and he swore he could hear John inhale sharply at the touch as he did when he was excited. Sherlock allowed himself to smile, face hidden in the shadows, and gently massage at John's thigh, stroking it gently and soothingly as if he were a soft animal.  
"I'm sorry." The more he repeated it, the more he hoped it would go through to John and he would realise. The air seemed calmer and John hadn't pushed him away or shouted more yet, nor had he got out the car, so Sherlock hesitantly leaned forwards and lightly kissed John's neck, feeling the slight growth of stubble beneath his lips and inhaling his aftershave - musky and sexy. He kissed him several times on the throat, his fingertips lightly caressing his cheek, and he felt John tense, preparing to pull away for a second. Instead he groaned, caving in as he usually did when Sherlock was being particularly insistent in getting his own way, and turned his head to kiss him on the mouth properly. John leaned closer and turned his body towards the younger, making Sherlock smile as they kissed fiercely, with a passion that he was thankful to still feel. However, John's hand - creeping slowly to the back of Sherlock's head - gripped his hair tightly, making him wince and his eyes water, though he enjoyed the controlling move. It was a sign that it would be a good night for both of them.  
"I'm still angry with you," John said with a warning tone against Sherlock's lips, ignoring when he whined and nuzzled against John's cheek, his breathing hot and heavy. "I'm not forgetting what you did for a long while."  
"I told you I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, kissing him quickly on the corner of the mouth before he could get too riled up again. When he heard John's throaty groan, he felt relief along with the excitement. His hand slid to John's neck and rested there. "I know I was bad."  
"Very bad," John added, his tone still cutting, but he kissed back when Sherlock puckered his lips, taking what Sherlock was offering. "You know what happens to bad boys." Sherlock nearly paused, faltering in the movements of his lips at John's words as he considered what he was saying, then could only kiss back twice as hard despite his swollen lips, thankful that everything seemed to be slipping back to normality after the blip. He had a feeling the storm was still brewing, and John was holding back a lot of the questions he wanted to ask about the evening, but Sherlock was keen to have John now.  
"Yes -" He bit his lip, unsure if now was the time to say the word that had been central in their relationship, but John opened the door with a final kiss to Sherlock. His lips were aching yet numb already but that wasn't stopping him from clambering out of the car and straightening stiffly, nervous to get upstairs once again but more than willing. John locked the car and immediately began walking up to the foyer with Sherlock in tow, their hands linking; John's grip was too firm, too tight, too possessive, as it had been at the beginning of the relationship, as it was when he took control and truly became Sherlock's daddy. Sherlock shivered as they walked straight past the half-asleep woman on night duty at the desk and promptly walked up the stairs, taking the dizzying staircase up to their room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Idk about the title of this chapter going with the content but it was what I was listening to when I was writing and made me think of cars, so ehh.


	2. A Little Death

No second was wasted the moment they pushed into the hotel room. John's hand reached out and smacked the light switch - he had always insisted on sex in the full light where he could see every inch of Sherlock's well-paid for body before him, the sweat glistening on his skin, the pink hand marks scattered over his backside and thighs. John wasted no time in grabbing at Sherlock and kissing him firmly, his heated lips pressing insistently into the others as his teeth sunk into his lip hard. Sherlock whined, feeling John's hands grip at his clothes and tug them so their bodies pressed closer.  
Sherlock was already dazed, breathless, burning in his lungs. He needed oxygen, desperately, as John's mouth overtook his and barely gave him room to inhale, but he didn't want the alternative of being anywhere but fully connected to John. There had been a barrier between them long enough in the car journey, and now it seemed to be cracked and crumbled Sherlock wanted to make the most of John. He felt like he hadn't even seen him for hours - which technically was true. A large bulk of the night had been dominated by Sherlock flirting with another man, by making eyes at other people. He felt foolish and full of regret, but he knew he would be able to quickly make up for it as John's hands gripped at the cheeks of his butt and pinched hard, squeezing so much that he had to break free of the kiss to let out the sound of pain.  
"Hurts, doesn't it?" John hissed, nipping at Sherlock's neck as he glared at him with fiery eyes. Sherlock shivered and tipped his neck back, moaning at the swell of feelings over his body, but within the next second he was shoved across the room and pushed face-down on the bed. He could barely breathe once again, taking the opportunity to gasp for air, but John was ruthless. He held him down with one strong hand, digging into his back as his other hand wandered down Sherlock's body, tickling the back of his thighs before raising up to his waist band, teasing the leather of his belt. It couldn't be removed fast enough.  
"You have made Daddy very unhappy, Sherlock Holmes." There it was, the name that had connected them both, bought them both together. Sherlock had thought it would be lost between the two of them after what he had done tonight, that he'd never hear it from John again. He had half-expected John to drive him all the way home and never see him again, based on the anger and betrayal he had caused. "But you know that, don't you? You know just how to get my attention. How to get me to react to you. A spoilt brat desperate for attention."  
Sherlock nearly moaned there and then but he was still catching his breath, filling his lungs and raising himself on his elbows. The bed was still freshly made, neatly tucked in the corners, not a wrinkle on the plump cushions. They would look completely different in a few short hours. He felt John press his crotch against his backside, his hard length pressing into his crack and rubbing against him - letting him know what he had caused. Sherlock couldn't resist smirking as John's steady hands skilfully undid his belt without even having to look at the buckle, then he pulled himself away to drag the trousers down his legs. Sherlock quivered as his underwear followed, leaving him half nude before John. In the very beginnings of their relationship, when he - an uncertain virgin - had first revealed himself to another person intimately, he had been almost shy about his body. He had never hid it, nor had he taken his time in removing his clothes, as he had no emotion towards the human body (at first). But there was always a lingering part of himself that had been concerned, wondering just what John thought of him. He was fine with his looks, his body, but was aware that John was tanned and muscled from his years serving in the military. Sherlock was healthy enough but had the pasty complexion of someone who had no time for outside, his body thin and lanky. Was it good enough for John?  
The first time he had stripped before John, he had been flushed and flustered from his daddy's response: "Fuck, you're so gorgeous." Wandering hands and desperate kisses. A hard cock. Even after the confirmation that his body was perfect, which he received each time he took his clothes off, he still remained uncertain.  
A sharp, stinging smack of John's palm about Sherlock's warm, bare cheek caught his attention and bought him to the present with a subconscious yelp. The smile remained lingering on his lips, pleased with the attention - just as John had said he was. For a long time he was preferred between preferring the large sums of money he frequently received, the material goods he was showered with, with the attention he got from such a divine man.  
A second smack, sharper and louder so it echoed around the room and bounced off the walls, pulled another sound from Sherlock. By the third spank he was trembling, hastily trying to balance on his forearms and weakened legs as he hissed through the sharp, burning pain radiating off his cheeks.  
"This won't do," John snapped, smacking him harder. Sherlock felt tears in his eyes from the pain but gritted his teeth. He deserved it, the pain. He deserved - and wanted with a desperation that overtook the soreness - the marks left on his skin. He deserved the struggle to sit down without wincing, making John smirk at him. "Good thing you aren't in the army. This wouldn't do. Straight back, straight legs, firm arms. Balance your weight."  
Sherlock shivered in delight as John's military background caught up with him and slipped into the punishment. John knew the effect his barked orders had on Sherlock - along with his dark blue uniform and white gloves, his shining, polished medals. Oh, how ecstatic Sherlock had been when one of his punishments consisted of kneeling naked at John's feet polishing his medals. It had been humiliating, how quickly he had hardened, but completely worth it.  
Sherlock shifted as best as he could at John's instruction, biting his lip as he forced himself to move against the alcohol and nerves that made him wobble and nearly slip over. John didn't resist in spanking Sherlock one again. A fifth time. Then a sixth. Sherlock was nearly seeing stars by the seventh. By the eighth, his cock was throbbing so uncomfortably that he had to make himself stop from thrusting against the bed. Nine, ten. His cheeks were stinging, burning, throbbing. It felt like a fire was burning on his skin but it was delicious and made him only raise his hips more, pushing himself uselessly against John.  
"Stay down," John hissed, a hand planting firmly on Sherlock's back, pinning him to the bed still. "Stay there."  
Sherlock whimpered as John's hand swept over the abused skin of his cheeks, the throbbing and burning making his throat tighten in pain. John's trailing finger tips left a trail of fire as they smoothly drifted over the red patches that would make it impossible for him to sit properly for a few days.  
"Now what do you say?" John growled, leaning down to Sherlock closely; his body was pressed right against him, his heavy weight reminding Sherlock of all the times when John would be moving on top of him, and his clothed crotch made his spanked backside throb more. Trembling, Sherlock turned his head, staring at John out of the corner of his eye, and whispered, "I'm sorry, Daddy."  
"Hmm." John stood again, leaving Sherlock sprawled on the bed with his tense, aching hips still stuck in the air, wobbling slightly with the effort it took to keep in the position of offering. "I don't know if you mean that."  
Scrambling onto his side to face John properly, Sherlock hastily gabbled, "But I do! I do mean it, I know I hurt you. John -" He stopped speaking, sighing slightly when his guilt returned at the flicker in John's eyes, the upset he had caused flashing. Sherlock wanted to stroke over the man's cheek and kiss the place where his palm had been, he wanted to pull him close and plead for forgiveness. It was impossible when he was lying on his side with his trousers around his ankles and pain and obedience keeping him down. "I'm sorry, John. Daddy."  
John's face shifted back to a smirk and he grabbed Sherlock's hips, spinning him around and breaking out of the sudden emotional pause in their activity. "You keep on your front, just as Daddy told you. Bad boy." The surprise spank to Sherlock's aching skin made him scream out quietly, grabbing at the duvet and resting his head on it as tears stung in response. He couldn't fight the smile.  
"Watching you touch that man, flirt with that man -" John's tone was angered, biting, and paired with the sound of his belt clinking and his zipper, Sherlock felt his already hardened length throb. "It made me want to pin you down in the middle of that room, show them all who you belong to." He roughly grabbed Sherlock's slim hips and yanked him up, closer to himself, before releasing one hand to stroke himself. The quiet sound of John's cock had Sherlock quivering, eagerly trying to turn and see for himself. "Show everyone who's your daddy. Show them all that you need to be controlled, put in your place."  
The broken sentences ended the second that John lined himself up and instantly pushed hard into Sherlock. No matter how many times John had fucked him, Sherlock had never got used to the stretch of his length, the ache of his girth, the way he felt like all the air was leaving him when his body tried to cope with the intrusion. Delicious pain, friction that ached for hours after they had slept together. It clouded Sherlock's thoughts as the rhythm started immediately, John's hips pressing right up against Sherlock's behind as he steadily built up the thrusting. He always took his time at first, to ensure he found that one spot inside Sherlock that made him scream until his voice cracked and broke. It was seconds before John pressed against Sherlock's prostate, and it pulled out the long, deep moan right from inside his chest. His eyes fluttered immediately, as John's movements weren't slow for too long. They quickened in pace, his cock hitting into Sherlock in a way that made him squirm and unable to close his open mouth. He felt sensitive already and the ache was just making his body shake more, his long fingers gripping the sheets hard. He hadn't been stretched, his body wasn't entirely prepared, but he was so aroused by the spanking, by John's voice, by the feeling of his exposed cock brushing against the bed sheets, that John slipped in easily.  
Sherlock's head tipped right back as John yanked his curls, firm fingers gripping so tight pain burst over his scalp. He felt his eyes widen and mouth open as he let out a moan, John relentlessly slamming into him so the bed shook. If Sherlock had any consideration for the other people in the hotel, the neighbours who were surely asleep by now, he would have worried about the bed knocking softly but insistently against the wall, and the loud moans that fell from his mouth and bounced off the walls.  
"You love your daddy's cock, don't you, Holmes?" John growled right into Sherlock's ear, his teeth grazing the soft white skin of his neck, and Sherlock nodded, eyes watering when the action prompted more pain from the hand that held a stony grip on his hair. "No one will take you the way I do."  
Sherlock breathed something along the lines of agreement, stroking John's ego some more as much as his helpless moans and hard length did. John let go of Sherlock's hair - allowing him to drop his sore head on the duvet and throatily moan his way through the rest of the sex - and held onto his hips, fluidly thrusting in and out as Sherlock's trembling legs spread further. Sherlock's hand scrambled under his body and struggled to grab his own cock, eager for satisfaction in his distractedly straining length, but his attempts stopped when he felt the familiar ache inside him - his orgasm was overtaking him, John's cock against his prostate finally pushing him over the edge. Sherlock whimpered and felt something smear his fingertips but his untouched cock was far from finished, still aching and desperate, but the orgasm inside him was delicious. It washed over his bed in waves, prickling in his bones and flooding his blood as his heart hammered in a broken rhythm like his deep moans as he practically wept John's name. "Daddy."  
John was not far behind. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Seven quick thrusts and he was releasing inside Sherlock, pushing his length deep inside him to fill him with his cum. Claiming Sherlock for his own, marking him the way he marked his scarlet skin with his hand. John was growling, aggressive, hips still frantically moving as he finished inside Sherlock roughly, but Sherlock lay back through his elongated orgasm and tried unsuccessfully to breathe, lips unsteadily twitching into a grin. He was tired, he was sweating, he was drunk again. He could feel John inside him, the part of John that proved Sherlock was his to claim and possess.  
There was a blank moment where Sherlock's eyes shut and he could only breathe, his chest aching as much as his stomach, his insides, his cheeks. His scalp burned as if on fire but he loved it. It flared for a moment when John ran his fingers through the mop of brown hair again, gently and softly bringing Sherlock to a more aware state. He was no longer inside him, no longer pushing him down, barking orders. Instead he was taking care of him, slowly waiting with a patience that Sherlock was grateful for, to open his eyes and look back at him, and find his voice again.  
Sherlock's eyes finally fluttered open and he whispered John's name, hand reaching out towards him with neediness that was more than just a physical want. John gave him his first true smile of the night and stroked over Sherlock's sharp jawline, smoothing his swollen, pink lips. "Turn over," he whispered, his voice a calm wash. Sherlock was exhausted but he did his best to roll onto his back, pushing himself further up the bed so more of his long legs could fit on the mattress, feeling the aches rise over his body - his back, his knees, his thigh muscles. John leaned over him and kissed along his exposed neck, sweeping his hands over Sherlock's suit yet slowing his movement when he touched skin - Sherlock's hands, his stomach where the shirt had crumpled and risen from the actions.  
It was a moment of peace, after the constant bustle of the day: the constant rush of passion in the day, the heat of anger at night. Slow silence - a rarity between them, considering the relationship they had - was only filled with soft kisses, gentle lips pressed on Sherlock's temple and cheek before brushing his lips.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to write and finish and the ending is so rushed but I was too keen to upload to make an overt amount of effort so here's the finish.

**Author's Note:**

> Why are these always shorter than I think they are, ugh.  
> Please request.


End file.
